


say so

by nagare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, but there is no one else around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22599019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagare/pseuds/nagare
Summary: The fact that Hubert can easily propose that they fuck on the grass or in the backseat of a car with such shamelessness these days is a terrifying revelation to behold, if only because they have already done both of these scandalous acts before. More than once, in fact.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 217





	say so

**Author's Note:**

> listened to doja cat say so tiktoks for 10 hours on loop when i first started writing this. therefore, partially inspired 
> 
> small content warnings i didn't want/got too embarassed to add as an actual tag:  
> unbeta'd  
> implied background edeldetta marriage  
> there is anal and creampie.  
> this fic is bottom hubert but i hc them as vers if you care  
> very corny and very horny. thank you in advance

“How is it so unbearably hot here,” Hubert grumbles, fumbling with the buttons on his coat. He peels it off himself as Ferdinand laughs beside him. The apple trees lining the gravel path offer some amount of shade and respite from the overbearing sun, but the stifling heat seems to permeate his very lungs. They do not stop walking. The sooner they can get back to their car and drive far, far away from this frying pan of a basin, the better. 

“I do not understand how someone born and raised in Enbarr could fare so terribly in the heat,” Ferdinand shakes his head. “Even Sylvain agrees to go riding with me on pleasant days like this without complaint, and he hails from Faerghus.”

Hubert scowls and drapes his coat over his shoulder, feeling significantly cooler and also significantly more disgusting. His sweat-drenched shirt clings heavily to his back, his bangs are matted against his forehead, he has a pounding migraine, and he’s certain his face is burning, either from sunburn or heatstroke or maybe even both. 

He looks over at Ferdinand. Sure, there are only stray droplets of sweat beading up on the side of his cocky face, and his sun-kissed skin is only showing the faintest amount of pink, but his collar is unbuttoned once more than usual, his shirt sleeves are rolled up enough to expose his sturdy forearms, and he is not wearing gloves, and more importantly, he _was only wearing one layer,_ which means the competition was rigged from the start. 

“Perhaps you have adapted to a life of picking daisies in the sweltering heat, but some of us have these amazing contraptions called air conditioners, and we use them unsparingly.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself for leaving your office in a _black_ coat. Black! And you knew it was sunny, out. I dare say you did this to yourself.“ 

Ferdinand idly tugs his hair tie loose, and his wavy locks break Hubert’s line of sight of the nape of Ferdinand’s neck. A pity. His eyes trail back to the road, instead of lingering on the tantalizing peek of Ferdinand’s skin.

“It was pleasantly breezy when we left, but here, the air is staler than your week-old fridged pastries.” Hubert replies defensively. “And, I feel more at ease with my coat. I have an image to maintain.”

Ferdinand giggles, a sound that should theoretically be unbecoming of a nearly six foot grown man, but in his voice it rings pleasantly and hangs in the air. “And maintain it you did, I will give you credit for that. You looked so positively disgruntled, the very picture of a bloodthirsty night dweller. Our good sir Acheron seemed like he would wet himself on the spot.” 

“I _was_ disgruntled, by this goddamned weather and his simpering voice. Too much to be of any real use. Besides,” Hubert sighs, “You were the one who successfully negotiated the agreement in the end.”

“Nonsense. You did all the research and found his embezzlement records. I only swooped in at the end and sweet talked him into signing the contract while you made neck slicing motions at him from behind me.” 

Leave it to the two of them to consistently argue over who gets more credit. Every time Hubert insists he did more, Ferdinand does the same; every time he wants to begrudgingly give Ferdinand his rightful recognition for his skills, the other man suddenly becomes the peak of humility. Perfectly at odds.

However, Hubert knows that this time Ferdinand’s argument rings objectively untrue, because he did nothing besides loom and glare that entire time. He truly could not do anything else, rather. He was absolutely too sweaty and compromised and _hard,_ because Ferdinand had slammed his hands down on Acheron’s table, leaned over his arms coyly, and absolutely _tore_ apart any exorbitant charges the weaselly orchard owner tried to swindle them with. 

All civilly and with a pleasant smile on his face, of course. It was a terrifying show of verbal skill. And it tightened Hubert’s pants. Or, the real reason he could not take off his long coat until now. 

Hubert mentions none of this. 

“A pity we have to compromise with that man at all. Tell me, why are we here again, paying him a fair sum for use of his ill-gotten property? We could just have him locked up and his lands seized.” 

“Because Bernadetta wants a quiet wedding away from people, and Edelgard wants the picturesque and scenic backdrop of nature, and they both want a romantic June wedding, and this place is perfect and you could never say no to the two lovely ladies you hold closest to your heart?”

Hubert clicks his tongue in annoyance. Without his coat’s high collar, the sun is now beating down on _his_ nape and the tip of his ears, and Hubert contemplates holding his coat up to shield himself, before he decides it’s too much of a sacrifice of what little dignity he currently has left. 

“We can have the orchard seized _after_ the wedding, so that their special day is not delayed any longer than it has to be,” Ferdinand adds, a little devilishly, and Hubert drinks up every syllable of it. “Besides, Acheron was easy enough to bribe, and we are still not a cent over budget! I would say our plans are coming along swimmingly. Oh— Hubert. I see the car. Let us get you in there before you burn to a crisp like the vampire you are.”

Ferdinand picks up his pace, and Hubert follows suit. He is not the type to _run,_ but he is not above power walking for the promise of cool air. We all must make concessions at times. At long last, Ferdinand unlocks the car, Hubert yanks the passenger door open a little more forcefully than he has to, and they both hop in. First order of matter is getting the engine started and the AC blasting; Hubert takes the sun shade off of the dashboard and folds it neatly before tossing it into the backseat. His coat follows soon after. Hubert wrinkles his nose and wipes a copious amount of sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. The air coming out of the vent is still lukewarm, and it feels awful. 

“Actually. Ferdinand, before we go, I’m going to get some water from the trunk for us.” 

He’s met with a nod, while Ferdinand distractedly fiddles with his seatbelt. He regretfully steps out of the car again, pries two bottles free from the box that Ferdinand always has stocked in the back of his car like the health junkie he is, and plops down back in his seat. He drops one of the bottles in the cupholder between them, and chugs about half of his own bottle in one go. Hell, it’s a wonder he didn’t somehow dehydrate after sweating all those buckets in his cloth prison before he could make his way back. 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand suddenly says, rather meekly. “We may have a little problem.” 

Alarmed, he meets Ferdinand’s gaze with concern. His eyes sweep over the dashboard quickly, there doesn’t seem to be any strange warning lights at first glance. “Is something wrong with the car?” 

Oh hell, if they have to stay here any longer if they have to, or god forbid, ask _Acheron_ for help of all things—

“I, um, I don’t believe I can properly drive while… um. Excited,” Ferdinand finishes finally, his cheeks turning pinker by the second. And for good measure, he’s sitting with his legs spread, and shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Hubert’s gaze trails downwards. Ah.

Hubert feels relief wash through his veins, even as he inadvertently lets out a snort. “To think I was sincerely worried for a second, there. You truly are insatiable, aren’t you?” 

(The irony of the situation is of course not lost on him, but he would never pass up a chance to goad Ferdinand.)

“Ugh, just… shut up, Hubert,” Ferdinand groans. He looks accusingly at Hubert. “You… you caused this, anyways. Walking around in your sweaty white shirt like that.”

Hubert feels a flush crawl up his own face, suddenly self conscious of the wet cloth sticking to his chest.

Ferdinand also notices, and in an attempt to put an end to this horrible, embarrassing feedback loop between them, ducks his head away to hide his own further mortified expression. “Look, just give me a moment, there is no one else in sight so it’s fine if I go relieve myself outside—”

“Wait,” Hubert practically squeaks, incredibly short of breath and with his hand closed around Ferdinand’s wrist. “I’ll help. Since you so adamantly say it was my fault.” 

Ferdinand slowly turns back around, and his lips are pressed together in a petulant manner that looks like he was caught undecided between making a pout or a shit-eating grin. “Is that so,” he whispers, voice very small, but trailing off into a sultry drawl. 

Hubert nods, mouth dry but wanting. Moments later, Ferdinand has somehow pulled him by the collar and pressed their mouths together, and Hubert is grasping at Ferdinand’s back for purchase, finding his fingers tangled in a mat of thick hair. Ferdinand’s tongue presses against his lips, and he reflexively parts his mouth; he is only pulled closer for his troubles, and Ferdinand greedily licks up his small gasps for breath. 

Hubert’s fingers dig urgently into Ferdinand’s skin and they finally break their kiss, leaving the both of them panting furiously for air. Hubert is looking slightly worse off as always, of course. There is spit dribbling down his chin, and he doesn’t know whose it is, but hastily wipes it off with his sleeve. 

“That was… enjoyable, but I was under the impression it was not your mouth that is urgently begging for my attention right now,” Hubert finally manages to wheeze out, looking coyly up at Ferdinand. 

“Hubert, what part of me does not beg for your attention at any given moment?” 

Hubert definitely does not feel his ears burn up at this.

“I was getting rather impatient and from our prior experience,” Ferdinand continues while Hubert fumbles for his words, “Surely you remember how inconvenient this all is in the front seats.” 

“...Would you like to take this outside, or shall we move to the back?” 

“Back,” Ferdinand coughs, clearly trying to hide a laugh behind it. 

Not that Hubert doesn’t also see the mortifying hilarity of it all. The fact that Hubert can easily propose that they fuck on the grass or in the backseat of a car with such shamelessness these days is a terrifying revelation to behold, if only because they have already done both of these scandalous acts before. More than once, in fact. As much he harbours equally conflicting feelings of wanting to vaporise himself in shame and wanting to indulge in increasingly hedonistic liaisons, he always seems to lose out on rationality if Ferdinand is thrown into the equation. 

And nowadays it feels like Ferdinand has been here forever. 

Their fate decided, the both of them shimmy out of the car and set to work. Hubert puts the sun shade back up, Ferdinand rolls down the front windows halfway, Hubert grabs the picnic towel from the trunk and flings it over the backseat, and most embarrassingly of all, Ferdinand fishes the lube out of the glove compartment. Never say let it be said that Edelgard’s two most prolific men are anything but well-prepared. 

When they both clamber into the backseat and shut their doors, they sit in awkward silence for a moment, staring at each other with the daunting distance of the entire middle seat in between them. 

Hubert tugs at his collar nervously. They’ve done this dance a million times, and yet it hardly gets easier to ask each time. “You still want this, right?”

“More than you know,” Ferdinand reassures him, and winces. “I am feeling quite impatient, actually.”

Hubert inhales sharply. “Well, the onus lies on me for making you wait. Excuse me,” he says, and inelegantly crawls over to Ferdinand’s side. 

This time, Hubert initiates the kiss, and it is much more languid than their last. Ferdinand tugs him into his lap, and Hubert steadies his hands on Ferdinand’s shoulders, taking his time with exploring Ferdinand’s mouth. A cursory nibble here, a bump of their noses; Ferdinand is eagerly making small noises as Hubert leisurely brushes his tongue against his. Ferdinand’s fingers start to roam, and when they suddenly squeeze the inside of Hubert’s thigh a little too hard, he chokes lightly on his own excitement. All too soon, they break the kiss.

“How would you like to take me?” Ferdinand asks breathlessly, eyes glowing with fondness.

Hubert closes his eyes. “I… today, I’d like you to do the taking,” he confesses, feeling terribly sudden fit of vulnerability. To compensate, he shifts his weight abruptly, and his knee digs into Ferdinand’s groin. A suitable distraction.

“Agh— you little,” Ferdinand wheezes, before he retaliates by pinching Hubert’s ass, satisfied by the jolt he gets in response. “Are you sure?”

Hubert’s backside is technically still on the tail end of recovering from a lovely pounding two nights ago. Ferdinand probably assumed they’d follow their little unspoken pattern of taking turns being fucked senseless, which they only broke infrequently or at least sandwiched something less intense in between. But today, he is feeling soggy and drained, and the memory of Ferdinand cowing Acheron into a corner with nothing but his sharp wit and sheer confidence is still fresh on his mind, and he’d like nothing more than to see Ferdinand’s crooked smile before he bites down his neck.

He cannot easily cobble together all these words out loud, thoughts so terribly muddled with lust as they are. So Hubert merely leans his head against Ferdinand’s warm chest and tugs at his belt buckle. “More than you know,” he mirrors. 

The next minute is a veritable mess. Hubert nearly rips off Ferdinand’s zipper in zealousness, and Ferdinand clearly gave upon trying to undo Hubert’s trousers, and just starts to tug it furiously downwards, hoping Hubert is just skinny enough to have his pants slide straight off. It obviously does not work, so Hubert grumpily tears his attention away from Ferdinand’s straining briefs to deal with his own buttons. Off they go, and he kicks off his shoes too, for good measure. Ferdinand watches him intently, obediently, waiting for some kind of cue. 

Hubert licks his lips and lies back on the blanket, his knees drawn up on the seat and legs spread slightly. “I left the last piece for you, you bumbling fool. Would you do the honours?” 

Ferdinand didn’t need to be told twice. He scoots forward on all fours, hooking his thumbs in the elastic of Hubert’s briefs, and for a brief moment, pauses to kiss the inside of Hubert’s thigh. 

He snaps the waistband. Hubert’s knee jerks against his ear reflexively, and they both laugh. Then, in one swift motion, Ferdinand pulls Hubert’s underwear to his ankles. The feel of cool air hitting his hardening cock sends a shiver through Hubert, but he has just enough reason left in him to nudge Ferdinand back with his foot. 

“My turn, now. Go sit down again.” 

Ferdinand pouts, but he acquiesces, clearly interested in whatever scheme Hubert has cooked up for them today. Then, Hubert crawls back, head hovering over Ferdinand’s lap. He tugs Ferdinand’s briefs much more gently than his own were handled, and gingerly eases Ferdinand’s cock out of its cotton prison. Ferdinand tenses up, and his fingers somehow have found their way into Hubert’s hair, but he does not mind. Nudges closer to Ferdinand’s touch, even.

A cursory lick from the base of his balls up the side of his stiff cock, and Ferdinand’s grip on his hair tightens. Hubert likes seeing Ferdinand quiver so, and grins devilishly up at Ferdinand through his lashes once, before he wraps his mouth around the tip of Ferdinand’s cock. Every little rub of his gloved fingers, every suck, every light scrape of his teeth against Ferdinand’s shaft, the beautiful man underneath him rewards him in kind with the loveliest of noises. Ferdinand desperately tries to keep his hips steady, but Hubert claims every involuntary thrust that nearly causes him to choke as a little victory. Ferdinand tugs the fistful of hair in his hand a little too roughly, and Hubert can’t help but grind his own painfully unattended cock against the seat.

In between the obscene sounds Hubert manages to draw from him, Ferdinand finally manages to gasp out a coherent thought. “Hubert, I— Oh, I love this but, please, I— want to touch you.” 

Well, how could he say no to that?

Hubert reluctantly lets Ferdinand’s cock slide out of his mouth. There is a terrible trail of spit, or precome, or perhaps a mix of both in his wake, and to his mortification, Ferdinand smears it off from his chin and licks it off of his own fingers, and it all looks terribly tantalising. 

“Not bad, but I think it would taste better from the source,” Ferdinand remarks airily and soon Hubert is helplessly drawn into another sloppy kiss, with Ferdinand cradling the sides of his face, licking inside then outside of his mouth much like an overexcited dog slobbering over his favourite toy. 

Ferdinand’s finger brushes over his nipple, damp cloth leaving very little to the imagination, and Hubert inadvertently keens. “Your shirt is still soaked,” Ferdinand titters as Hubert scowls, even as their faces are still pressed together, cheeks flushed. “You don’t know how positively scandalous you looked every step of the way back.”

“I’ve gotten you to work up a sweat too,” Hubert snaps back, but he cannot hide the affection in his voice. Ferdinand’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, and his skin is sticky to the touch. Delicious. It is still uncomfortably hot in the car, but if he thinks of it as Ferdinand’s heat, the byproduct of their passions, it is more than bearable. 

“So you have,” Ferdinand agrees, and his eyes light up with a roguish kind of charm. “Say Hubert…”

“...Hm?” 

“I feel like my hair is getting in the way,” and Hubert wants to interject that no, his hair is perfect and could not ruin anything, and he would stand by that opinion even if he finds himself strangling to death in those glorious saffron locks, but Ferdinand offers him a heart-stopping proposition he could not refuse. 

“Won’t you braid it for me? While I open you up.” 

“Okay,” Hubert can only answer dumbly, as all the blood in his brain rushes to his dick. 

Ferdinand fumbles for the lubricant he previously tossed into the cupholder, and Hubert gathers up Ferdinand’s hair to one side. They get in an unfortunate tangle of limbs in an attempt to find a suitable position, and eventually settle for Hubert straddling Ferdinand’s lap from the front. It’s terribly cramped in the car, and every time they end up bumping heads and limbs and noses, but Hubert likes the impracticality of it. How hedonistic it is. How exhilarating it is to have Ferdinand so desperately panting into his mouth, the notion that Ferdinand was so impatient to take him right then and there that they could not wait even an hour longer to find a proper room and bed. 

While Ferdinand loops his arms around Hubert’s back, messily lathering his hands, Hubert shakily separates Ferdinand’s hair into three roughly equal portions. As much as he’d like to adorn Ferdinand’s hair with a braid suited for royalty, this position does not lend well to patterns more complicated than a simple plait. And, well, knowing how relentless Ferdinand can be with his fingers, he won’t be able to think straight after a while. 

A wet and cold feeling drips onto the cleft of his ass, and he cannot help but shudder. Ferdinand looks up at him apologetically. “It is a little hard to see,” and Hubert shakes his head furiously in return. 

“Make a mess of me,” he whispers. 

Ferdinand’s eyes widen, before the edges soften and the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a teasing smile.

“But of course.” 

A slick finger slides into him easily enough, and Hubert tries to keep his focus on the braid in his hands; pull the right lock, then the left, then right again. Ferdinand spreads his asscheeks a little further, and Hubert bites down on his lip to stifle himself. Keep braiding. _Left, right._

The second finger teases the edge of his hole. It still feels a little bit raw from their last fucking, Hubert realises, but he welcomes the slight sting as Ferdinand slips the second finger in.

“You feel so loose,” Ferdinand chuckles, and Hubert’s face somehow gets even redder than it already was. He lurches forward slightly and ducks his head onto Ferdinand’s shoulder to hide his expression. Still, he idly twists the braid in his hands. Left, first. 

“You made me like this,” he grumbles, and it could mean so many things. Hubert lets Ferdinand fill in the blanks for himself. He’s a clever man. The two fingers twist and scrape and spread inside of him, and Hubert is finding it harder and harder to control his breathing. Right lock, he reminds himself. 

Ferdinand does not respond at first, and instead takes advantage of Hubert’s oversight; by hiding his face, he has left his neck perfectly open to attack. A light nibble, and Hubert arches in his arms, sinking deeper onto Ferdinand’s fingers. Ah, fuck. He feels a third poking its way in, and if Hubert yanks a little too harshly on Ferdinand’s hair, he doesn’t show it. 

Then, the damning truth Hubert was vying for in twisted anticipation falls from Ferdinand’s honeyed lips, knocking the last of Hubert’s wind out of him. 

“Like what, Hubert. Like a needy slut?” Ferdinand murmurs, voice terribly fond and taunting, and at this point, Hubert doesn’t know how many fingers have crammed their way into his ass. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Ferdinand presses a finger into his prostate, and Hubert is writhing, panting, burying his face into the back of the car seat as he involuntarily rubs his cock up against Ferdinand’s stomach, desperate for any bit of friction. Ferdinand’s own hips jerk up in response, both their bodies chasing after much-desired relief. Hubert hasn’t let go of Ferdinand’s braid, but he clings onto it like a lifeline, all pretense of braiding it forgotten. Bless his heart, Ferdinand continues to knead Hubert’s ass with one hand as he fingerfucks him with the other, and Hubert cannot fully stifle his cries any longer.

“Please, Ferdi— I won’t last,” he manages to finally choke out in between shallow breath, and Ferdinand grunts in affirmation. They both still their shuddering to their best efforts, and Ferdinand pulls his fingers out. In a fit of horny delirium, Hubert feels so horribly empty, so desperate to be filled up again, and—

Clearly Ferdinand feels the same, since he haphazardly squeezes an obscene amount of lubricant onto both their cocks and lathers them generously at once, and they once again buck their hips together. Ferdinand sucks harshly on Hubert’s clavicle, and Hubert bites down on Ferdinand’s shirt in response. 

“Can I put it in,” Ferdinand finally babbles out, his own voice barely any steadier than Hubert’s at this point. His fingers are roaming, and Hubert barely notices where; as of now, his biggest priority is to get fucked silly as soon as possible.

“Could have five minutes ago,” Hubert fires back, even if they both know that’s untrue. But, he thinks, rather terribly, he would have let Ferdinand try if he wanted to anyways. There are probably worse ways to die than being split in two while spelunking in the back of a car.

On second thought, maybe that was a sign that he’s already too far gone at this point, but Ferdinand doesn’t allow him any time to reevaluate his life choices. He grips Hubert by the waist dragging his ass close to his cock, and his fingers dig harshly into his muscle; Hubert silently prays to himself that it’s rough enough to leave a mark. The braid is suddenly forsaken for more pressing matters, as Hubert desperately scrambles to angle himself to take Ferdinand’s cock properly. 

“I have you. You can relax,” Ferdinand whispers, and licks the shell of Hubert’s ear, trailing its curve salaciously. At the bite of an earlobe, Hubert melts in his arms obediently, and he sinks onto Ferdinand’s cock with a gasp.

Tears well up in the corners of his eyes on reflex, because his asshole still feels like it’s being stretched raw even after all that preparation. Or maybe he was just so horny and desperate for cock that one minute felt like ten. Who knows. Either way, Ferdinand is mumbling his name softly, and that is a treasure he would not give up for anything in the world. 

“I,” Hubert chokes out, his voice starting to crack, “don’t know when we became such nymphomaniacs.” There's hardly a moment of free time they have that they don't immediately spend on tumbling onto the nearest soft surface. Frequently, a hard surface will do too. 

He cannot see Ferdinand’s face, still, but Ferdinand’s burning cheek is hot enough to mirror his own. Neither of them can bring themselves to look the other in the eye. “Do… you dislike it?” Ferdinand asks, his previous bravado rapidly wilting. 

Hubert feels a little apologetic; Ferdinand has ever been the attentive partner. He thrives on positive reinforcement, and Hubert has had to choke back a great many of his automatic defense mechanisms in his effort to reassure Ferdinand that he was more than perfect.

“Hardly,” he says, blinking a couple tears out of his vision. He tries to push himself further down on Ferdinand’s cock, but the pain makes him wince. Strong arms hold him steady in alarm, and he feels his breath hitch. “I was just… ruminating.”

“About?” Ferdinand shifts shakily under Hubert’s weight, clearly itching to thrust. But Ferdinand pays Hubert’s words too much attention, leaning into his embrace, begging for his thoughts before he considers fulfilling his own physical needs. A strange mix to Hubert of being endearing, yet leaving him sexually frustrated beyond belief.

Hubert rolls his eyes. “How I so desperately want you to pound me senseless.” 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand inhales sharply, and in a flash, Ferdinand slips out of him, and he is thrown off balance. Hubert’s hands automatically flail around for something to grab, but there is nothing but Ferdinand in all directions; he ends up on his back with nothing but a fistful of Ferdinand’s hair in his grasp for his troubles, and Ferdinand’s body pressed on top his own. 

“You— what was that—”

“I want to see your face, Hubert,” Ferdinand confesses, amber eyes boring a terrible hole into Hubert’s last dregs of shame. 

He breaks eye contact, and looks to the side awkwardly. “Have it your way.” 

Ferdinand gleefully captures his mouth in a relatively chaste kiss in response. More reshuffling of their bodies ensues amidst their stolen kisses, until they find a position that’s passably functional: Ferdinand is kneeling on the seat, and Hubert’s thighs are propped over Ferdinand’s, with his hips raised and legs on either side of Ferdinand. 

“You can lay back, Hubert. Thank you for everything today,” and Ferdinand slips back into Hubert seamlessly, his broad and sturdy hands clutching warmly at Hubert’s sides again.

There really is something terribly lewd about this position, Hubert thinks, as Ferdinand starts to slam into him. He is on his back, hands clutching the blanket for dear life, his legs spread for Ferdinand, everything in plain sight, all while Ferdinand is mussed up but still mostly clothed. Ferdinand has to duck his head slightly to not hit the roof of the car, but for the price of this small inconvenience, Hubert is splayed out before him, helplessly free for his taking as his neglected cock spills precome over his own stomach and their hedonistic sounds fill up the cramped car. 

He… likes it. Somehow, they’d always been too busy grasping at each other. Eyes shut in greedy kisses. Burying their faces in each other’s chests, necks, crotches. But here, watching Ferdinand’s half done braid dangle from his shoulder and unravel further with every thrust, the sight of Ferdinand’s chest heaving up and down as his breath was caught in every swift movement, it all feels like a new and delicious thing, and soon he finds himself losing the right words to describe what he sees. Ferdinand is tearing into him so relentlessly, so lovingly. Every pound sends him reeling further into ecstasy, the jolt of pain only driving him closer to release. He grits his teeth as Ferdinand’s nails digs a little too sharply into his flesh, but, oh, he loves it all so much. Still, he tilts his head to his left so that his thick bangs offer some sort of respite from Ferdinand’s adoring gaze. 

“Hubert, I’m so— close,” Ferdinand cries out, his pace picking up wildly.

“Please,” Hubert heaves out, head knocking against the car door. 

Right as Ferdinand clenches and makes to pull out, Hubert finds himself trying to lock his feet behind Ferdinand’s back, his muddled brain still finding some sort of glee in Ferdinand’s bemusement. “Hubert, what are you—”

“—In, please. Inside,” he slurs, “So we— don’t get the car seat dirty.”

Ferdinand comes right then, spilling deep inside of Hubert, and oh, oh, he doesn’t know why they don’t do this more. Ferdinand’s warmth, as he shudders and erratically continues thrusting into Hubert, already enough to send him so close to his own edge. Somehow he doesn’t realise when Ferdinand has wrapped his hands around Hubert’s cock and started pumping, but it hardly takes more than a few seconds before Hubert is already spilling his own come all over Ferdinand’s hands and over both their shirts. 

Neither of them speak for a couple seconds, the sound of their heavy panting filling the car. Ferdinand finally pulls himself out, and Hubert tries his best not to whine. Now that he’s coming down from his post-pounding high, he’s regaining some of his mental facilities. 

“...I cannot believe you,” Ferdinand finally huffs, shaking his head in consternation. “What was that… little show about?”

Hubert lays limply in his seat. He doesn’t really want to get up for at least another minute or so before he can fully get his bearings back. “...You seemed to enjoy it plenty,” he retorts, lazily prodding at the trickle of come leaking out of his ass.

Ferdinand flushes slightly at that. “I did, but your reasoning made absolutely no sense. We already have a blanket, just to keep the seats clean. And you came all over our clothes anyways. _And,_ you hate it when I try to help you clean the come out. Which is why I usually…”

“I like it,” Hubert interjects weakly. 

“...Pardon?” 

“...I won’t repeat myself again, you dolt. I like leaving… your come inside,” Hubert finally grits out, with much difficulty. 

Ferdinand opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. Opens it again. No words come out. Closes it again. Hubert is already regretting admitting to it, frankly, and Ferdinand’s baffled expression is certainly not helping things. 

“Please say something. Anything,” he groans, covering his face with his hand. If it’s too much, he’s fine never bringing it up ever again. A small price to pay for Ferdinand’s comfort. 

“Wait, ugh, Hubert, please do not misunderstand,” Ferdinand urgently tugs at his shirt. Hubert removes his hand and peers questioningly at Ferdinand. “I was just… shocked to hear that combination of words leave your mouth. I, um, am flattered. Truly. It might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he babbles, and Hubert nearly chokes on his own spit.

“But Hubert, I am perfectly willing to indulge you! You simply have to ask. But I have to ask you, have you considered the health implications of this? Surely you can’t just leave it in there forev—”

“I’ll— I’ll get it out now,” Hubert seats himself upright and winces, desperate to end the conversation already. 

“But…”

“It’s alright, Ferdinand. I said it in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but well… as you brought up, it’s not feasible. We should get to cleaning up.” He absolutely wants to dig a seven foot deep hole right now and just bury himself in it forever.

Ferdinand gives him a worried look. Hubert sighs and leans over. He brushes Ferdinand’s hair back, and kisses him gently on the cheek. “Please trust me.” 

Thus begins their grueling clean-up process. It’s still needlessly hot outside, and Hubert tries to scoop the come out of his asshole for a good thirty seconds before he calls it a day and figures he might as well just do a full clean-up at home and leave it in as a keepsake a little longer. Ferdinand shoves the come stained blanket into their special containment box in his trunk for come stained blankets, and Hubert hastily pulls all his clothes back on. 

“Sorry that there’s still come all over our shirts, but if we go straight home it should be fine,” Hubert remarks drily, plopping down in his seat. 

Ferdinand laughs. “Care to relax for a little bit? I am still feeling a little bit… sensitive, but if you absolutely want to rush home, I understand.”

Hubert shrugs. “If you turn on the cold air.” He pulls open the glove compartment. “By the way, did you put the lubricant back—”

“No, don’t—”

And Ferdinand lunges to slam the door shut, but it’s too late. Hubert stares at him incredulously, and Ferdinand looks two shades paler than usual. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but if Ferdinand is reacting like this, then—

“You didn’t see anything,” Ferdinand states. Not a question. A demand. He has Hubert’s wrist in a vice grip, and is looking very steely-eyed up at him.

Hubert weighs his options carefully. “...I… didn’t, as long as you promise to answer one question for me, unrelated to its purpose,” he finally replies, not backing down from Ferdinand’s gaze.

“...Shoot.” 

“Why would you leave something… something you didn’t want me to see in the glove compartment?” 

Ferdinand sighs. “I… I actually meant to show you, soon after I got it. I will come clean, I suppose. I was always looking for the right time for it. And if I found the perfect moment, it would be there and easily within reach. But I suppose nerves got the better of me, every time, and now with Edelgard and Bernadetta’s on the horizon…” 

“I see,” Hubert whispers. The air is a little strange around them, especially considering the unspeakable things they did only moments earlier. “Going back to what you mentioned earlier. Was that really the most romantic thing I’ve ever said to you?” 

Ferdinand splutters. 

Hubert wearily continues, refusing to look Ferdinand in the eyes. “Was I too unclear in my intentions? ...Did it look like… I didn’t care for you,” he winces, “romantically?” 

“No!” Ferdinand shouts with such sincerity, that it both serves to startle Hubert yet somehow settles his lesser voiced anxieties. “It’s just… look, _you_ called us nymphomanics,” and now it’s Hubert’s turn to splutter.

“Wh— that is an entirely separate matter,” he spits out hotly.

“It is not,” Ferdinand insists. “At this point, we have fucked more than we have ever been on dates!” 

Hubert stares at him dumbfoundedly, his head absolutely spinning. “We have been nigh inseparable as of these past few years.” 

“Running company errands or Edelgard’s personal requests with me doesn’t count, Hubert. I know we live together, but— look, I do not want to give you the wrong impression at all,” Ferdinand frets. “I have thankfully never doubted in the past several months that you enjoy my company, and have treasured every moment together with you, whether it is over the planning table, or,” he coughs, “ _bent_ over the planning table. I am content to spend the rest of my days with you however you would have it, and I was just... dreadfully afraid of ruining what we have.” 

“I… I promise I will take you on more dates,” Hubert finally stutters out.

Ferdinand looks mortified. “I mean, that would be wonderful, but I sincerely did not want to pressure you into making concessions for me—”

“You did not pressure me. I just— am deeply uncomfortable realising we are more likely to, ahem, play hanky panky, than spend our rare time off together doing something you would like—”

“What if I _like_ playing hanky panky with you,” Ferdinand grumbles, and the both of them slowly turn redder as what he blurts out sinks in.

“...Ferdinand, let’s just go home.” 

“Oh goddess... we truly are nymphomaniacs,” he whimpers, in dawning horror.

"Ferdinand," Hubert _begs_. "Please drop it."

* * *

Ferdinand lounges around idly on their bed. "Hey, Hubert. Are you into bedroom roleplay?" 

"Perhaps. It depends on the scenario."

"Well, is there anything you have taken interest in?" 

"Hm..." He sets a steaming cup of tea by Ferdinand's nightstand, and makes a show of taking a while to ponder the question. "Let's roleplay a married couple. I believe we even have a perfectly good engagement ring lying around—"

Ferdinand throws a pillow at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> im never writing porn ever again im one of those people who dies typing out the word cock because i never grew past my penis funny word phase that most people outgrew at 14. thanks for reading, anyways!


End file.
